I just had a startling display of what my path
of abundance has brought me.

Yesterday, I was at the beach with my 6 year
old son, Mack.

He had build a sandcastle with a series of
roads, hills, tunnels and turns.

When he was finished, he proudly pointed out
his creation and said:

"Mom, I am a great creator. "

"I had a dream about this, so I built it."

Now get this part, .... he then says:

"What ever you can dream, you can do!"

I looked at him , totally amazed!

After all, this is the type of mantra I have
been learning as an adult!

" Where did you hear that from? "

"Well, if the Mom is good at knowing and making
stuff, then because the baby comes from the
Mom, he has to be great, too!"

I am not sure I got the connection and, is
sounded great anyway!

Wow, talk about feeling proud!

I have never said this phrase to him, yet it
was obvious my actions have rubbed off on him.

I think I will remember that moment my entire
life!

I got involved with a home based business 5
years ago because I wanted the money.

The path to my success required changing the
way I think.

That inner change became much more important
then any business because it's

NOT ABOUT THE BUSINESS!

The wealth, success, free time etc. will show
up when you make a mental shift.

That shift has helped me parent a child in a
way I would never have been able to do before.

And every parent knows how much their own
behavior and actions can effect their
children's lives.

I read the following story, in, of all strange
places,

The BMJ.. The British Journal of Medicine.

Very serious and Scientific Medical Journal.

Get out your hanky or your spouse's tee shirt.

I read this before my son gave me that special
moment on the beach

Had I not learned how to choose abundance over
scarcity I could have been like this Dr.

It would have been a bitter pill to swallow.

And it makes my personal mission of inspiring
abundance in others even more important .

=========================================

BMJ 2002;324:43 ( 5 January )

Filler

A Patient Who Changed My Practice

Shattered hope

During the late 1980s, while working as a
neurosurgery resident in Mumbai (Bombay), I
came across Krishna, a 7 year old boy admitted
with a six month history of blindness. Orphaned
at an early age, he had been brought up by his
elderly grandfather, a farmer from a village
300 miles from Bombay.

Being a clever child, Krishna could follow
basic English as well as his native Marathi and
Hindi languages. Though blind, he was unusually
quick at navigating his way round the ward.
Once he heard them speak, he could recognise
people's voices unfailingly. With amazing
dexterity, he helped pushing nursing trolleys,
tidy up charts, and file reports. But the two
qualities that made him especially popular were
his continuous smile and his continuous
singing. With a gifted voice, he sang movie
songs and kept everyone spellbound. His
infectious smile would brighten up everyone's
mood, and his songs transformed an otherwise
serious neurosurgical ward into a big happy
family. Krishna inspired life. He loved
everyone, and everyone loved him.

Krishna's magnetic resonance image revealed a
huge craniopharyngiomaa formidable brain
tumour, benign but potentially lethal. Krishna
and his grandfather, however, were not unduly
worried. They had complete faith in their
doctors and did not want to know anything more.
A long operation was planned. As always,
Krishna was smiling. The operation lasted 10
hours and was a success in surgical terms: near
total resection of the tumour was accomplished,
and Krishna remained well postoperatively. His
blindness, however, was unchanged. Within 48
hours, he was back on his feet, with the same
smiling face and, of course, his singing.

Krishna's fourth postoperative day was the day
of the professorial grand round. During the
ward round, I briefly presented Krishna's case,
proudly described the technicalities of the
surgery, and was unanimously congratulated on
the excellent results. Krishna and his grandpa
were listening but understood little. After
some discussion, one junior doctor asked,
"What's the prognosis for his vision?"

"Poor," I immediately answered, "He's been
blind for six months. The vision won't
improve." The doctor was entirely satisfied
with my dogmatic answer, and the professor
patted me on my back, presumably because of my
thorough grasp of the subject. The round
carried on to the next patient. But something
was amiss. Krishna had heard my last comments
and had understood them. No one except I
realised the terrible mistake. While the round
carried on, I looked back at him again and
again. He could not see me, but I could see
very well. The familiar smile had vanquished.
From that day, he did not say much, did not
smile, and did not sing. He remained quiet and
seemed withdrawn into his shell. He was
discharged after two weeks and looked normal.
But I knew that my abrupt and thoughtless
remarks had caused an irrevocable damage.

I revisited the hospital in 1994. Krishna had
died eight months after his discharge. His
grandfather also died after a few months. His
vision did not improve. Mustering all my
courage, I inquired further and was devastated
to learn that, until his death, Krishna was
never seen to smile, nor did he ever sing
again. With my inappropriate remarks, I had
snatched away his hope, depriving him of
happiness in life long before his death.

I am yet to come to terms with this event.
Since then, in my neurosurgical practice I have
had many successes and failures. However, the
most important lesson I have learnt is never
take away patients' hope, it could be the only
thing keeping them alive. I see Krishna's smile
on each of my patients, and have not made the
same mistake again.